


just for one day

by looketh_its_brooketh



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Heist, Heist Shenanigans, Other, Rita & Juno Steel are Best Friends, Rita Appreciation (Penumbra Podcast), Rita-centric (Penumbra Podcast), but like VERY VERY fake relationship, king mick mercury getting the fun times he deserves, rita and mick being a power duo, the aurinko crime family says eat the rich, warning: pretentious rich people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28703718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looketh_its_brooketh/pseuds/looketh_its_brooketh
Summary: 900 creds for Rita. Come on, at least round it up to 1,000, Dark Matters people. All of the bad guys in the streams go for at least a respectable 1,000 creds.Or, Rita and Mick team up to do a heist no one's ever going to forget.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay, Mick Mercury & Juno Steel, Mick Mercury & Rita, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Jet Sikuliaq, Rita & Juno Steel, Rita (Penumbra Podcast) & Everyone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. maybe we're lying

**Author's Note:**

> rita is the main character and everyone else on Mars is just living in her world

Wanted  
Six (6) members of the Aurinko Crime Family  
Buddy Aurinko  
Vespa Ilkay  
Jet Siquliak  
Peter Ransom  
Juno Steel  
Rita  
Reward: 2,500 creds for Aurinko, Ilkay; 2,000 creds for Siquliak; 1,500 for Ransom, Steel; 900 for Rita  
Must be brought in ALIVE  
*This poster was approved by Dark Matters (DM)*

Rita frowns. The wanted poster is spread across her desk, and it annoys her. First of all, it does not match her room’s décor at all. Maybe that part is her fault—she _had_ asked to keep it when Mista Steel had plopped it down on the dining room table for the crew to look over. She’d gotten a few weird looks (mainly from Miss Vespa and Mista Steel); she hadn’t cared. She’d only felt triumphant as she carried it away, not bothering to roll it up—what if it _wrinkled_?

But the more she looks at it, the more annoying it gets. The chunky uniform black letters on a stark white background do not go with the pinks and oranges of her bedspread, and it just looks wrong on the wall above her bed; the wanted poster is out of place among her framed pictures of stream stars and inspirational quotes—mostly her own, because she’s noticed that she’s very quotable—and a few newer ones of her and her new family. Her favorite is the one where Mista Ransom is resting his elbow on a very grumpy Mista Steel’s head. Ooh, or the one she took of Miss Vespa reading to the Captain in the living room—that one is cute, too. No, wait, there’s also the picture of Mista Jet with tears in his eyes after beating the other five of them in staring contests. Miss Vespa had challenged him to have a staring contest with himself, and Rita’s still not sure who exactly won, but Mista Jet hasn’t looked at the metallic toaster the same way since.

It’s not just that, though. When Rita first swiped the poster, she’d only really cared that her name was on it. Your name on a _real_ wanted poster? That you got put because you, like, _committed a crime_? That’s something you treasure forever. Until about five minutes ago, it had hung in the special spot above her headboard. That way, she could see it whenever she walked in and feel just like Andromeda or some cool space cowboy that takes nothing from no one. And that had been enough for Rita, for a while. She only really started worrying about the numbers recently. 

900 creds for Rita. Come on, at least round it up to 1,000, Dark Matters people. All of the bad guys in the streams go for at _least_ a respectable 1,000 creds. She knows why she’s at the bottom of the list. Dark Matters has her ranked up against a famed crime duo, the Unnatural Disaster, and—well, it seems that a lot of people have heard of Mista Ransom. Even Mista Steel has gotten into trouble with ancient Martians and mayors—enough trouble to make him worth 600 creds more than her. It’s not like Rita hasn’t been involved in the crew’s heists; she just kinda takes a more behind-the-scenes role, usually. She’s good at it. And she knows that her family appreciates her and her skills. After all, who else would handle the robots and the hacking and the computers, Mista Steel? But apparently, someone forgot to give Dark Matters that memo.

Rita doesn’t want to look at the stupid poster anymore. She flips it over so that it lays down on her desk. Not good enough. She rolls it up. Better, but not quite there. She stuffs it under her bed, not caring if it wrinkles or even tears. Perfect. There’s a bag of salmon snacks just waiting to be eaten under there, too; she takes them to the empty dining room and sits down with a plop. 

“I’m going to mope now,” she announces. It’s always good to let people know when you’re about to mope; you can avoid many awkward situations that way. It’s also vague enough that the rest of her family won’t know exactly what she’s moping about, which is good because she doesn’t really want them to. Rita stuffs a handful of chips into her mouth as she idly glances at today’s stack of mail. She isn’t sure exactly why or how the Carte Blanche gets mail; it’s not like they have a mailbox. She just accepts it at this point.

“Bills, more bills, boring, boring.” Rita flips through the thin slips of paper, hoping she isn’t getting crumbs everywhere, but also not really caring because she is moping and the crew should be able to respect that. 

Then, four things happen so conveniently that the only possible explanation could be fate.

1\. Rita removes a fifth boring bill and is about to set aside a sixth when she realizes that it is not, in fact, a boring bill, but an important, scary bill. Her eyes widen and she pushes her glasses up with one finger, squinting to read the tiny numbers. She gasps. “WE’RE BROKE?” Immediately, she claps a hand over her mouth, waiting for a very scary Miss Vespa to come and yell about waking up the whole ship before 7 a.m. When nothing happens, she rereads the spread of numbers, really, really hoping she misread them. “We’re _broke_!” she hisses in horror. Rita hops up and begins pacing frantically around the room, clutching the offending bill to her chest. “What are we gonna do? How are we gonna _eat_? How are we gonna _live_? Oh, no. What is the Captain going to say? Does she _know_? AM I GONNA HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE THAT WE’RE—”

2\. Rita steps on something. She pauses mid-breakdown, takes a step back, and picks up the object. It’s a piece of paper, but it’s thicker than the others. It feels expensive and…almost soft. Can paper be soft? Tucking that question away for later, she reads:

To whom it may concern,

(“Well, _I’m_ certainly concerned,” Rita mutters.)

You (Juno Steel, Rita, and/or Sasha Wire) are cordially invited to attend a writer’s conference and cocktail party hosted by Mr. Bonneville T. Orion (award-winning author of _Rustic Olden Country_ , the _Show Pony_ series, _Bittersweet Empire: An Autobiography_ , and _Writing as Taught by Bonneville T. Orion_ ) as a plus one of (insert name here). This is a formal event, so do dress to impress, because you will be in polite society. Additionally, if you are not an esteemed academic as the invited guests have been deemed as by Mr. Orion, you may want to consider not attending the previously mentioned gathering.

Tally ho,

The Mailing Staff of Mr. Bonneville T. Orion

Only, it doesn’t actually say “insert name here”. In the spot where it probably used to say “insert name here”, the letter instead reads “Bartholomew “Mick” Mercury (award-nominated author of _Pinball Kids_ )”.

Rita gasps an even bigger gasp, almost choking on sweet salmon-y goodness. “Mista Mercury is a PUBLISHED AUTHOR? Ohmy—I gotta tell Mista Steel!” She starts down the hallway, clutching the invitation and the bill, when something stops her. “Bonneville Orion. Hmm. Why does that sound so familiar?” Her forehead crinkles. Ugh, the answer is right there, she knows it is, she just can’t _remember_ and she needs to remember or else she’ll never be able to forgive herself—

3\. Rita spots a yellowed corner poking out from under her bed as she passes the open doorway. The answer is even closer now, she can feel it; she can also feel that the yellow thing is kinda sticky and she doesn’t really want to touch it, but there’s just something about it that she can’t ignore.

It’s the rectangular plastic disc case for a stream that had been popular a few years ago— _Tally Ho, Here We Go (Seasons 1-4)_. Starring Bonneville T. Orion.

Rita gasps a third and final gasp. “That’s it!” she cries, spraying crumbs all over the cartoony letters of the title. She feels a sense of calm smugness now after having solved the mystery. _Mystery_ , right, she has to go tell Mista Steel the news. But it is kinda early, and that other thing seems less important now for some reason. She flips over the case, cringing as she does so. It’s like the brightly colored pictures of an obviously rich guy doing various obviously rich things are attacking her eyes. She snorts. It had been a terrible show. The previews had looked interesting, but she and Mista Steel watched about two episodes and realized that not only was the premise—Old Western Jupiter adventure meets horse race gambling—repetitive and weird, the host and star had been even worse. At first, she and Mista Steel had laughed at the man; he had a very put on ‘I’m rich’ voice and managed to use his catchphrase—“Tally ho (here we go)!”—at least ten times before each commercial break. But, after they had gotten past the first fifteen minutes, _Tally Ho, Here We Go_ had actually gotten kinda disturbing. Mista Orion has a lot of money— _a lot_ a lot of money—but he’s kinda like the Kanagawas in the fact that he doesn’t really do anything good with it. It means that he was able to get away with pretty much anything when he was on his show, especially involving his animals (most of which were either mistreated or just not supposed to be kept in captivity). It was gross and hard to watch, but apparently, people loved it. They fact that they cancelled _My Mother is a Werewolf_ to make room for _Ta Ta, Look at All My Money_ , Rita thinks as she slides the case back under her bed, is just plain embarrassing. At least that’s over with now. 

Wow. She hadn’t thought about Bonneville T. Orion in years; he’s pretty obscure now, as far as celebrities go, but apparently, he’s writing successful books that probably ain’t even good like Mista Mercury’s definitely is, because if there’s one thing she’s learned from all those books she’s been reading, rich people don’t write because they want to tell a story, they write to make money. As if that guy needs any more money.

4\. Rita comes up with a plan—yeah, right there, on the spot, _boom_ , PLAN. 

“We’d have to go undercover,” she says slowly, because she’s calm and this isn’t a big deal or anything. Just another plan. “And it could be dangerous. Really, _really_ dangerous. And criminal.” She smiles a devious smile. “1000 creds level criminal.”


	2. what d'you say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rita unleashes her plan, jupeter is soft, and everyone has funky mugs

The problem with creating a really great plan before 7:00 a.m. is that you can’t share it with anyone until after 7:00 a.m. Otherwise, you can just kiss that plan goodbye, because it is very unlikely that a crew filled with routinely late sleepers is going to approve of something dropped into their laps when they could be back in bed.

She _could_ just keep it to herself—just grab Mista Steel and run (in the figurative sense, of course). But, Rita has already made that mistake once, and she knows she won’t be able to take seeing the Captain so disappointed ever again. So, she takes it upon herself to be patient for the amount of time it takes her to draw up a detailed schematic of her plan, complete with illustrations; while the task is thrilling and the resulting diagrams and high fiving stick figures even better, it takes all of five minutes.

Patience is a virtue—that’s what Rita’s mom always says—but it turns out that it is a really, really difficult virtue, _especially_ for beautiful talented hackers—which is why she finds herself standing outside the door to Mista Steel’s room, debating whether or not knocking is a good idea. Okay, obviously she knows that knocking is typically a good idea when you’re about to enter a room. So maybe the debating is really about whether or not to enter the room at all—which isn’t much of a debate at all, when she really stops to think about it.

Rita taps the door lightly. “Mista Steel?” Nothing. She knocks again, a little harder this time, whispering a little louder. “Mista Steeeeel? Are you awake?”

A soft rustling comes from behind the door accompanied by the murmur of a voice. That’s good enough for Rita. “Okay, I’m coming in…”

She pushes open the door slowly, eyes squeezed shut. What? Privacy is the best policy—that’s another thing Rita’s mom always says. “Mista Steel? Are you decent?” When there isn’t any answer, she opens her eyes ever so slightly, then fully when the coast seems to be clear. 

Mista Steel is not, in fact, awake, although he does appear to be decent; he’s still fast asleep, arms wrapped around the pillow. Mista Ransom is awake, though, but he is standing weirdly far away from the bed for someone who was obviously just in said bed. He must’ve been lying in an awkward position; his hair is all rumpled and his face is kinda red. Mista Ransom gives her a little wave, motioning silently towards the hallway.

“It’s okay,” she assures him, “you can stay, Mista Ransom. It’s actually really good that you’re here, because I wanted to talk to you, too, and get your input, so this worked out a lot—”

“Rita,” Mista Steel groans, his voice muffled under the pile of blankets and pillows, “is that you?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake! Mista Steel, you will not _believe_ what I am about to tell you—”

“Can’t it wait until after I’ve had coffee? Or, like, ” he yawns, rolling over and draping an arm over his face to block out the light, “five more hours of sleep?”

“You’re in luck!” Rita hands him one of the two full mugs she’s been struggling to carry, passing the other one to Mista Ransom. They both thank her, although Mista Steel’s gratefulness comes out as more of a grunt.

“Would _you_ like something to drink, Rita?” Mista Ransom asks. “It feels rude for only one of us to be without any type of refreshment.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I already had some coffee.”

“Clearly,” Mista Steel mutters, rubbing at his eyes. Mista Ransom slides onto the bed next to him, coaxing Mista Steel into sitting up with his empty hand. 

“ _Honey_ ,” Mista Steel protests, reaching for his pillow.

“It’s only polite, my love,” Mista Ransom says. “Rita brought us coffee, and now we must pay her back by listening to her.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Mista Steel takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the bitterness—he swears by a very particular kind of creamer that the Carte Blanche has yet to pick up and refuses to use any other kind, deferring to drinking it black. He perks up almost immediately. “So, uh. What’s up, Rita? Something exciting happened?”

“Nothing much,” Rita says, the picture of nonchalance. “Just the mail.” Mista Steel narrows his eyes. “Okay, yes! Something real exciting! But also there’s bad news. Do you want the good news or the bad news first? And then there’s the other part, which is the best part, but I’m leaving that for last. So—good or bad?”

“Uh…”

“Bad,” Mista Ransom says with confidence. “When given a choice like that, one should always choose to hear the bad news first.”

“Why?” Rita asks.

“Because it leaves room for improvement, I suppose—for hope, even.”

“Always the optimist,” Mista Steel says teasingly. “I was gonna pick the third one.”

“Mista Steel, I _told_ you that that one isn’t an option.”

“But if it’s the best one—well, why can’t I pick that one? I don’t want to wait.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to, because it won’t be as exciting if I tell you now!" The words are hard to get out. Rita’s all about the inherent drama of sharing secrets, but when combined with her tendency to be really, really bad with secrets, things can get a little tricky. 

“C’mon, Rita.” He gives her a pleading smile—his smiles, regular as they are now, always make her feel a little fuzzy inside—and adds, “Please? Pretty please?”

She makes a series of indecisive noises. Mista Steel has a very convincing set of puppy dog eyes. Luckily, Mista Ransom steps in before she can ruin the whole thing (even if some part of her desperately wants to spill the beans). 

“Now, Juno, we can’t just go around ruining surprises. There is a very fine art in revealing intriguing information, and it must always be respected, no matter how early it is.” He punctuates this with a delicate sniff. Mista Steel snorts and gives the man a light nudge with his shoulder. “Okay, _Rose_.” This makes Mista Ransom begin to giggle uncontrollably, buyring his face in Mista Steel's shoulder, body shaking with laughter; Mista Steel soon joins in, and Rita finds herself smiling, even though she doesn’t exactly get what was so funny. Maybe Mista Ransom’s laugh is just contagious. With all this happiness going around, she feels confident enough to do things properly. 

“Okay, okay,” she says as Mista Steel and Ransom calm down, Mista Steel wiping at his eyes and Mista Ransom’s head now resting on the lady’s shoulder, “I’ll start with the bad news, then.” She takes a deep breath. “The bad news is…we’re broke.”

“We’re—wait, what?” Mista Steel sits up a little straighter. “How—what?”

“We’re broke,” Rita repeats. “We don’t have any money. Well, we have a little money, but it’s not enough to, ya know, live on.”

Mista Steel still looks confused, so she hands him the bill. His eyes scan over it. Without a word, he hands it to Mista Ransom and presses a hand to his head. “Wow. We really are broke.” Something occurs to him, then. “Wait. Why are we just now finding out about this?” He turns to Rita. “Does anyone else know?”

“Well,” Mista Ransom says, setting the bill gingerly beside him on the bed as if it's some gross thing he doesn’t want to touch, “I certainly don’t handle our money.”

“And I sure don’t,” Mista Steel adds. “Do we even have, like, a log, or something? Or a bank account? Or…anything like that?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Hm. Judging from these numbers, we probably should get on that. And it couldn’t be Jet or Vespa, because I’m sure we would have heard something about this problem from them—not to mention that they have their own jobs on the ship to keep them busy.”

“They do kinda seem like the types to keep good track of spending,” Rita agrees, “but I don’t think they do, either. And since I don’t look after our creds—although I did think about becoming an accountant at one point, but that was only for a day because I went to this internship and I didn’t realize just how boring accounting is—then that only leaves the Captain.”

Mista Ransom cringes. “Oh, dear. Do you think she knows?”

Rita shrugs. “It’s—hard to say. I mean, if anyone was going to know, I think it would be her, but—oh, I just don’t know for sure.”

“Okay, kind of a bad start,” Mista Steel says.

“Not ideal,” Mista Ransom adds.

“Well, hopefully it’s a good thing we got that out of the way,” Mista Steel says, shooting a pointed look at Mista Ransom, who smirks, unfazed. “What’s the good news, Rita?”

“Oh, Mista Steel, it’s really good news.”

“That’s—that’s good. What is it?”

“I mean, I don’t think you’re prepared for how good this news is.”

“Okay, okay, I’m intrigued,” Mista Steel grumbles, “what is it?”

“Are you ready? I don’t think you’re ready.”

“I don’t think I’m ready,” Mista Ransom replies as Mista Steel lets out a very undignified groan of impatience.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Rita relents. “The good news is—” she pauses for dramatic effect—maybe for too long, Mista Steel looks like he’s about to crack his ‘World’s Okayest Grandma’ mug out of pure rage, “Mista Mercury wrote a book!”

“I—”

“ _And_ the book got published, and he’s gonna win an award, and oh, wow, Mista Steel, I’m think I might start crying just thinkin’ about it!”

“Mercury,” Mista Ransom muses, “as in—”

“Mick,” Mista Steel confirms. Rita can’t read his expression. Is it confused? Surprised? Maybe a combination of the two? “Wow. That—that is good news. Great news.” He laughs a little. “Honestly, I should’ve seen that one coming. Mick was always the best at writing of the three of us when we were in school. Guess it was only a matter of time.” He goes silent, just staring, head down, at something Rita can’t see. 

Something has changed. Rita isn’t sure exactly what. Mista Ransom’s eyes cut to Mista Steel. He clears his throat and says, “That certainly is good to hear. His book is doing well, then?”

“I think it has to be, if Mista Mercury is being invited to this fancy author party.” And then she realizes. “Oh, no! Pretend I didn’t say that. Just—okay, guess we’re moving on to part three of Rita’s big reveal, we’ll work through this, it’s fine, just—take this.” Rita hands Mista Ransom the invitation.

Mista Ransom holds the piece of paper almost reverently, as if sensing its fanciness. He looks it over, removes his glasses, cleans them on a small handkerchief, replaces them, and then reads it again. “Oh, my.”

“What?” Mista Steel, out of his daze, cranes over Mista Ransom’s shoulder to look at the invitation. “What’s up?” He scans it quickly. “Well, this seems kind of overkill. Oh. Sasha’s definitely not going to show. I mean, of course Mick invited her, but still…” He frowns. “Bonneville T. Orion. I’ve heard that name before. Just—can’t remember where from.”

“Neither could I,” Rita admits, “ _until_ I remembered that he’s the guy from _Tally Ho, Here We Go!_ You remember, Mista Steel, that stream we watched—”

“—with the horse gambling guy,” Mista Steel finishes, slapping his forehead. “The one that replaced that werewolf stream you liked. Man, I hated that show.” His eyes suddenly narrow. “Wait. You said that this this the third thing that you had to tell us. The bad news was us not having any money. The good news was Mick getting published. How does this have anything to do with—” Mista Steel’s mouth forms an ‘o’. He shakes his head. “Rita. You’re not really thinking about—”

Rita nods eagerly.

Mista Steel’s look of surprise splits into one of elation as he lets out a cackle. “You are a genius!”

“Aw, Mista Steel,” Rita says modestly, flapping a hand.

“I mean it, Rita! I just wish I’d thought of it first.” 

“I have to admit, I don’t think I’m on the same page here,” Mista Ransom says, eying the two of them. “May I ask what exactly is going on?"

Mista Steel turns to Rita, beaming like a little kid. “Can I tell him?” 

“Be my guest,” Rita says graciously. She loves seeing him like this. Like his smiles, this side of Mista Steel isn’t a once in a lifetime view anymore. 

“Please,” Mista Ransom says.

“Rita wants to rob this old guy,” Mista Steel tells him. He looks at Rita to confirm this, and she nods. 

“The invitation’s just the icing on the spicy tuna cake!” she adds.

Mista Ransom still looks a little put off. “While that is certainly a convenient and well thought out plan—“ Rita hands him and Mista Steel two of the pamphlets about the heist she had made earlier, “—I just want to make sure we’re being prudent here.”

“What do you mean, Ransom? This plan is pretty close to perfect. Look, there’s drawings and everything.”

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Mista Ransom continues, “there might be a better way to solve our, ah, money issue. To be honest,” he says, glancing at Mista Steel, “I’m a little surprised you’re onboard with stealing from an innocent elderly man. That seems more like something I would do, Juno.”

Mista Steel laughs humorlessly. “Innocent? Honey, this particular elderly man is far from innocent. He’s a jerk.” Only Mista Steel uses a stronger word than ‘jerk’. 

“It’s true, Mista Ransom,” Rita says. “I did a lot of research on him, just to make sure Mista Orion hasn’t changed since he was a stream star, and boy, he hasn't. There’s a section about all the bad stuff he does on the back cover.”

Mista Ransom takes a skeptical sip from his own mug—it’s red, bears a picture of a sad clown, and is filled with caffeinated tea with a splash a milk—and flips over the pamphlet. “Alright, I see what you mean. Bonneville T. Orion does sound like—well, like a terrible person.” He places a firm hand on Mista Steel’s shoulder and says, “You have my blessing.” Almost immediately, his lips quirk into a smirk. “I was joking before, really,” Mista Ransom says. “I trust your judgement, Rita, and this is exactly the type of man that should be robbed—especially by people who desperately need money. Those who have and don’t help, well—I believe they deserve a bit of a wake-up call.” 

“I think,” Mista Steel announces, “that you’re just jealous that you don’t get to come with us.”

“Curses,” Mista Ransom exclaims, falling into Mista Steel’s lap, “you’ve found me out, dear detective! But Rita,” he says seriously, “you are planning on telling the Captain about this, yes?”

Rita tells him she is.

“And Mr. Mercury?”

Rita says yes again, feeling slightly less confident. That’s the one part of this whole thing that really makes her nervous. 

“Well,” Mista Ransom says, satisfied, “I look forward to seeing—hearing—how it all plays out.” 

“ _Jealous_ ,” Mista Steel sings.

“Oh, hush.”

As soon as the door is shut behind her, Rita breaks into a little dance (it’s called “The Rita”). One conversation down, two to go.

* * *

Telling the Captain her plan is so much easier than Rita had thought it would be. The Captain is surprised, at first, to hear that the Carte Blanche is out of creds. 

“Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given that no one has the job of managing our funds,” she admits when Rita whispers this to her at lunch.

Maybe it’s this, maybe it’s the fact that Rita learned from her mistake, or maybe it’s just that Rita’s plan is a really good one, but the Captain gives it the okay almost immediately.

“I always appreciate a convenient heist,” the Captain, seated at the head of the table, announces to the crew, “and this is certainly convenient.”

“I like it,” Miss Vespa says. The others turn to her. Miss Vespa never likes anything—well, other than the Captain and her knives. “What? I hate that mean man.” Although she uses much stronger words to describe the ‘mean man’. 

Mista Jet likes her plan, too. Even though he hadn’t heard of Orion beforehand—Mista Jet isn’t big on pop culture if it doesn’t involve aliens or conspiracy theories—after Mista Steel explains the man’s background in elaborate detail, he soon gets onboard the Rita train. “Given the circumstances, he does seem deserving. I think it is a great plan, Rita."

“Attending the party with your friend, finding and cracking Orion’s safe, and returning with the money we need,” the Captain lists. “I have no objections to any of it. There is one thing, though, darling.”

“Is it the part where we crawl in through the vents?” Rita asks. “Because I can change that in no time, Miss Captain—”

“No, that’s not it. My one condition, Rita, is that Juno cannot go with you.”

“ _What_? Buddy—”

“I’m sorry, darling, but I just can’t let you.”

Mista Steel crosses his arms. “Why not?”

“Because, looking at this pamphlet, you don’t have a chance of escaping this party unrecognized.” The Captain gestures to the incredibly accurate drawing of the house’s layout. “This house, you’ll notice, is located in Hyperion City.”

“According to his website, Mista Orion has a house there because he likes the city’s ‘rustic feel’,” Rita chimes in.

“And you’re much more well known in the area than Rita is,” the Captain continues. “What if some of your famous friends show up? The Kanagawas, or the Kings?” She gives him a look that is in between sympathy and authority. “I’m sorry, Juno. But you’re just going to have to sit this one out.”

Mista Steel seems like he’s about to protest, but he just sighs and leans back in his chair. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Okay.” 

“So, Rita,” the Captain says, smiling serenely. “How does it feel to be leading a heist that you created? Well, one you’ve gotten permission for, of course.”

The dining room suddenly seems very big. The lights are too bright, the sounds of forks clinking against plates too loud.

It was supposed to be her and Mista Steel. Now, it’s all on her. It had seemed like such a great idea--like fate--but can she even handle it? It wouldn't be the first time her dreams have been too big. Rita feels very small. But she sees Mista Steel out of the corner of her eye, and he doesn’t look too upset. In fact, he’s looking at her, and he’s smiling softly. 

It’s okay. She’ll be okay.

“It feels—pretty exciting,” Rita says, meaning it.

* * *

The Captain appoints Mista Jet to be the new head of ship funds, which surprises absolutely no one. At his request, Rita promises that, when she returns, she'll help him make a set of pamphlets laying out his plan for a new system of crew allowances based on chores. Maybe, if her plan works (which it has to, and _it will_ ), she'll be able to convince him to get her out of washing the dishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rita probably also helps jet make a chore wheel. they love it. juno and vespa hate it. 
> 
> where's mick, you may ask? oh, don't worry. he's coming.

**Author's Note:**

> oops i dropped my angst and it fell on rita i'm sorry. hey at least she has a plan ;)
> 
> ALSO if anyone of you artist types out there felt the need to uh...draw the pictures Rita has on her wall...i will pay you $100. not really i don't have that kind of money. but i *will* literally love you forever
> 
> title and chapter title are from david bowie's "heroes" (we love song fics here)


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